Nobody Said It Was Easy
by Gnome Ignominious
Summary: The year 2000. Princeton General's best doctor is crippled for life. The year 2001. Princeton Plainsboro gains a genius who's wreckage has already passed them by. Very AU-or so I've been told, Huddy.
1. Chapter 1

Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, sifted rapidly through the numerous resumes and CV's on her desk, sorting them quickly into two piles. The board had asked her to look into setting up a new department of Diagnostic Medicine, which would take any difficult cases that other doctors were having trouble working out. The head of the department would need to be experienced and willing to take risks to serve their patient's health. Working under them would be three younger doctors, their jobs being three year fellowships. She already had the fellowships sorted, but unfortunately, it was proving harder than she expected to find the right person for the head of the department.

Of the two piles on her desk, the one she had mentally labelled as _No good!_ was far larger than the other, _Interview them_, which currently had only two files on it. She finished sorting, pushing the No good! pile off to the side for her assistant to sort through and reply to later and turning her attention to the four files of the doctors she wanted to interview. The first one's qualifications were excellent, which had been what caught Cuddy's eye at first, but on closer inspection she found out that the doctor hadn't been practising long and was relatively inexperienced. They did, however, have clean medical and criminal records, so Cuddy marked the file as a safe bet and carried on to the next one, which showed a lot more promise. Gregory House was printed neatly across the top of the folder.

She read it with wide eyes. Cuddy hadn't looked at the names before, not wanting to bias her judgement, but Greg House! She had never met him, but he had been in med school at Michigan when she was an undergrad and was known to everyone. His textbook on Nephrology was still required reading for every medical student. Then, a few years ago, he had disappeared from the map; he stopped speaking at conferences, publishing articles. He left the (medical) public eye entirely. It said in his file that his last place of employment was Princeton General. Cuddy was surprised. They hid that well, she thought. She was surprised to see that he left their employment just under a year ago. He had been unemployed for a year? He hadn't been fired from General so what had prevented him from getting another job? She knew his bedside manner had fallen from disrepute into infamy some years ago, but that couldn't be the only reason. Then she turned the page to read his medical history. What she saw shocked and saddened her. Greg House was crippled.

A year ago, he had had an aneurysm in his lateral circumflex femoral artery, which clotted, infarcting the muscle. It was misdiagnosed as delayed onset muscle soreness and he was prescribed bed rest and a heating pad. Three days later, in excruciating pain, he diagnosed himself. He requested a bypass to restore blood flow to the dead or dying muscle, believing that amputation was too extreme when he could recover with full use of his leg. However, the pain after the bypass surgery was too much and he was put in a coma to sleep through it. Five hours and a cardiac arrest later, his girlfriend, who was also his medical proxy, decided that his life was worth more than his leg. She gave permission for the dead muscle to be cut out, which in the end, probably saved his life. Cuddy glanced over the surgeon's notes. ._..97% of patient's rectus femoris removed, along with 32% of the vastus lateralis... removed muscle completely necrotic... previous bypass had minimal effect on the restoration of blood flow..._ After that there were regular signoffs from a physical therapist and prescription notes. In the first few months, the signatures were almost every day, but as time went on, the PT appointments decreased. The last one was dated a fortnight ago. Cuddy wondered how bad his life was right now. She looked at the medication he was taking. Coumadin to prevent further clots and Vicodin. The pain must be hellish, she thought, to warrant taking such a strong narcotic. She wondered whether he could still walk, considering the pain and complete lack of muscle. Perhaps he uses crutches, she thought. He must certainly have a bad limp, anyway. She shook her head, trying to erase the pity she felt for a man she didn't even know.  
She quickly perused the other files and made up her mind to call all of them tomorrow to set up interviews.

Greg House was in the bath when the phone rang the morning after Lisa Cuddy looked at his application. He knew he wouldn't be able to reach it in time, so he let it ring. After a minute, the answer phone clicked on and he heard a muffled woman's voice. His heart leapt for a second. Stacy? He quickly extinguished all hope, because he knew it was false. She wasn't coming back. After a few more minutes, he heaved himself up and slowly got dressed, then he limped into the living room to return the call. He listened to the message. The voice sounded tinny through the small speaker on the answer phone.

"Hello, this is Dr. Lisa Cuddy from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Sorry to have missed you, if you could please call me back as soon as possible, regarding your job interview. Thanks."  
Short, and to the point, House thought. Very professional. But he was pleased though. He had been getting increasingly bored over the past few months, and it had been a week or two ago when he decided he was fully ready to return to work. He didn't have any desire to return to General, so he turned to PPTH and fortunately he found an opening. He pressed redial and listened to the phone ring. After a few rings, Dr Cuddy picked up.

"Dr Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro speaking. How can can I help you?"

"Dr Cuddy, this is Greg House, calling about the job interview."

"Ah, Dr House, thank you for calling back so promptly." She was surprised. She had figured he was out for the day, or something, and wouldn't return the call until the afternoon, or possibly even tomorrow. As if he had read her mind, House said:

"Yeah, sorry I didn't pick up. Takes me a while to get to the phone. I guess you know that from my medical file." He spoke quietly, as though it took great effort to get the words out right. Cuddly cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Yes," she assented, aiming to put the subject back on track. "I was calling about what time to set up your interview for. Can you do 11:30 tomorrow morning?"

"That sounds fine," House said. "Well, then," Cuddy said, trying to wrap up the uncomfortable conversation. "I look forward to meeting you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Okay," House said bluntly. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," Cuddy replied.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day saw House pulling up in his battered sedan in the visitor's parking lot at the front of PPTH. He had made an effort to look halfway decent, which included running his fingers through his hair (he couldn't find a comb) and wearing a tie. He limped up to the entrance and went into the spacious lobby, deliberately not using the automatic doors. Even now, he still tried not to think of himself as handicapped. He glanced around. Directly ahead of him was the main nurse's station and to his right, a clinic area and pharmacy. On his left, he could see a pair of glass doors with the words: Lisa Cuddy, M.D. Dean of Medicine written on them. That was where he was headed. In the outer office, he was accosted by a young assisstant, who asked his name and business. She checked the time and got up to show him into Dr Cuddy's office. A pause after the knock and the voice he'd heard on the phone yesterday called: "Come in."

Cuddy's first impression of House was scruffy good looks. He was wearing a black blazer and trousers with a rumpled dark blue shirt and wonky tie. He was unshaven, but the scruff suited his face, she thought. He looked somewhat uncomfortable in the clothes and for someone whom she'd heard in med school could be unbelievably egotistical and self confident, seemed nervous and unsure of himself. "Dr House," she said. "Please, take a seat." Cuddy tried hard not to stare as she took in the dull wooden cane and awful limp as he crossed the room and sat down. She noticed the small, well-controlled glint of pain in his eyes as he slowly stretched out his right leg in front of him.  
Without preamble, Cuddy began the interview, describing the job and throwing in a question or two here and there. House answered them clearly, he was an excellent speaker if he chose to be, but he was quickly getting bored. He realised he would probably enjoy working here, if he didn't screw this up. He liked the warm atmosphere of PPTH much better than the unwelcoming hugeness of General. As his mind wandered, his eyes were drawn unfortunately and unhelpfully to Cuddy's breasts, which were moving as she expounded enthusiastically about the finer nuances of the new Diagnostic Department. He tried to stop himself from ogling her ass as she bent down to search through a filing cabinet for the latest budget report. Or something. House grinned internally. Even if he didn't get the job- which seemed pretty likely, now, she must have noticed his complete and utter lack of attention - he had the memory of her to take away with him, to the shower or couch, or somewhere. He attempted to end those thoughts and zoned in again to what she was saying.  
"...because we are a teaching hospital, the job also entails giving regular lectures to students and possibly having interns rotating through the department."  
Huh. Fat chance of that ever happening, House thought. Out loud, he said: "Sounds good, I guess."  
"I'm glad you approve." House raised one eyebrow a fraction of an inch. Glad didn't even cover it. Ecstatic that he agreed with her, maybe. Just a little over the top, he thought, but he pushed all this to the back of his mind for scrutiny and analysis later.  
"As you may have noticed as you came in-" As you may have noticed! Of course he noticed, for Pete's sake! He wasn't blind! However, he just nodded politely as she went on: "-this hospital runs a free clinc that is open from 9 til 3 every week day. All doctors who work here have to complete a fixed number of clinic hours, usually in one hour shifts spread over the week." Cuddy finally realised that her words were falling on deaf ears and she looked harder into House's tired face. Again, the miniscule eyebrow raise which he seemed to be using to vent his obvious boredom. Perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned the clinic. Even her most obedient and hardworking employees had some grumble against it. She sighed and continued with her spiel, but paused again as House shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the pain more evident in his eyes. His hand drifted unconciously to his right thigh. He swallowed, unsure about interrupting her, but went ahead anyway.  
"Uh, sorry, do you have the time? I don't mean to be rude, but..." he trailed off as his hand slid into his jacket pocket, producing an orange prescription bottle, about half full of white oblong pills. Cuddy's confusion was evident on her face. "I need to know if it's time for my dose. I forgot my watch. Stupid, I guess." His tone was full of self-reproach.  
"It's no problem. It's just a few minutes before 12," she answered, trying to reassure him that it was okay to ask. She didn't want any future employee to be scared of her. Respectful, sure, but not sweating in her presence.  
He nodded in grateful thanks and poured a pill into the palm of his hand with practised ease. Cuddy was about to offer him some water but he just chucked it back and dry-swallowed, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste.  
"I was going to give you a tour of the site," Cuddy started. House's hand immediately went back to his thigh. "But perhaps it's best if we leave that for now." House was relieved. He really couldn't take that much walking. "Yeah," he agreed wholeheartedly.  
"Okay, well, I'll call you in a few days to let you know whether you have the job. What's a good time for me me to call?"  
"Anytime around lunch or the afternoon, I guess," he replied. It wasn't like he was going anywhere. He stood up, not waiting to shake her hand and started for the door.  
"I'll talk to you soon, then," Cuddy said to his retreating back.  
He half-turned and looked at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes piercing hers.  
"I look forward to it," hr said, with a hint of humour in his voice. As he turned away, Cuddy could have sworn there was a mischevious grin on his face, but she dismissed it. As he left Cuddy's office, House smiled, something he hadn't done much over the past, well, ages, really. It felt good to finally be getting his life back on track. He was going to have some fun with this one.  



	3. Chapter 3

A few days later came the phone call House tried to tell himself he wasn't hoping for. He picked up before the second ring ended.

"Dr House speaking," he said.

"Dr House, this is Lisa Cuddy. I'm pleased to offer you the job."  
House could hear the enthusiastic smile behind her words and grinned back. He was pleased to get it, but in reality he hadn't doubted that he would. His brilliance as a doctor wouldn't have been overlooked by anyone and coupled with her obvious fascination with him, it was pretty certain the job was his.

"Thanks very much," he said and meant it. "I have a few things to discuss with you," she went on. "Namely your, uh, disabilty." House let out a breath. He had anticipated this.

"Yeah," he said.

"I need to know what you consider your limitations. I will also call your doctor to ask his opinion, if that is okay with you." Cuddy was aware of his discomfort, but she needed the information from his point of view.

"My leg tends to stiffen up, or sometimes the muscle even spasms if I stay in one position for too long. It's often painful to walk long distances; on my handicapped license it states that I can walk 50 yards without assisstance, but it's more like 10 on an icy or wet day."

"Okay," Cuddy said. "How do you think this will affect your practice?"

House sucked in a long breath. The infarction had taken a lot away from him; running, jumping, the will to get up in the morning and now it was eating into his medical abilities too, which was the one thing he thought he'd always have. He decided to live through the pain if it meant keeping up with the other doctors around him.

"I think... I'll be okay," he said tentatively. "I'll need shortened shifts in the ER, or at least somewhere I can sit down for a minute and I don't think it would be a good idea if I assisst any long surgeries." The last thing he needed was a lawsuit from a patient because his leg cramped up while he was elbows deep in their gut and he stabbed the wrong thing.

"I agree." Cuddy was envisaging the same scenario in her head. "You will be assigned a parking space at the front of the hospital, as near to the entrance as I can make it. I can shift some other people around a bit."

"Thanks." Again, he was sincere. "So, when do I start?"

"I'll see you at 8:30 on Monday. Your office is on the fourth floor, straight ahead out of the elevators. You will have half an hour to meet your new team and then, if you're lucky, you'll have a case. I want you looking smart and respectable. Your team can be the ones talking to the patient if you want, but you still need to be presentable. A tie and lab coat are the expected dress."

House gave a small gulp. He hated lab coats with a passion. At General, he'd deliberately set his on fire to aviod wearing it. However, he'd reign in that behaviour for now and see if he could keep the job for at least a week.

"Thanks again, Dr Cuddy. I'll see you on Monday." Hopefully.

"You're welcome. I look forward to seeing you too." House grinned. Score.


	4. Chapter 4

House woke early on Monday morning, stomach tingling with anticipation. He remembered to put on a tie and an ironed shirt, along with smart trousers and shoes. He made sure he was completely ready before leaving his apartment; he didn't want to be caught out in any way on his first day at PPTH.

At 8:15 he pulled into the hospital's parking lot and circled slowly through it, searching for a space with his name above it. He caught sight of the five blue handicapped spaces, separated from the hospital doors by only a short stretch of pavement. Next to one he saw the sign: "Parking for House, M.D." It was the only disabled space reserved for a doctor; the others were just for visitors to the hospital. He quickly pulled into the space and manoeuvered his tall frame out of the car, right hand under his knee to support his damaged leg as he pivoted his body. He grabbed his cane from its resting place on the backseat and slowly made his way into the hospital.

House crossed the lobby, aiming for the elevators on the far side. He hated the way people politely moved aside as soon as they saw the cane, trying to hide the pity in their eyes. He quickly made up his mind to be known as anything but "the crippled doctor". He'd rather be called an ass or a jerk than drown in the endless stares, averted eyes and curious glances at his leg and cane.

House tried to swallow his nerves as the elevator stopped at the fourth floor. He stepped out and quickly looked around. To his right were patient rooms and a sign that read: "Witherspoon Wing- Oncology Ward 1". On his left, House could see a door which presumably lead to an office. The sign on the door said: "James Wilson, M.D. Head of Oncology". House took in the information. James Wilson was probably an influential figure in the hospital because of his position as head of such a major department. House then turned to look straight ahead down the wide hallway in front of him. On the left were two glass-walled rooms; one seemed to be a small conference room or lounge, the other an office. They were both empty, containing only basic furniture. House limped over to read the name, silver printed on glass. It said "Gregory House, M.D. Head of Diagnostics". He grinned and went in. The office had a narrow desk to one side, with a computer and desk chair and in the corner nearest the door was a long, yellow, comfy-looking recliner. Hose smiled again. That was considerate of Cuddy, he thought. He chucked his bag under the desk and hung his coat over the back of the chair. He checked his watch. 8:27. His new fellows would be here any minute. He limped through to the conference room and sat at the head of the long table to await their arrival.

8:28. A good-looking blonde guy strolled in and greeted House in an Australian accent. He introduced himself as Dr Chase. House nodded. He'd heard of this guy's father, who was a famous rheumatologist. Hopefully junior could live up to those standards. House realised he was trying to make a good impression by arriving slightly earlier than the others.  
8:29. A young female brunette entered the conference room. Her eyes flicked for a moment between Chase and House, before Chase introduced them both. House again only acknowledged her presence with a nod and a small smile. He also glanced quickly over her body, but she had nothing on his boss, Cuddy. He almost smirked, bu kept it to himself. He marked the new arrival, Dr Cameron downn as caring nervous and too much of both for her own good.  
At 8:30, a serious looking black guy sauntered in, introducing himself as Dr Foreman. He didn't seem the slightest bit ruffled that he was the last to arrive. Punctual, House thought, and probably the one who'll care most about the diagnosis and least about the patient. He'd have to watch this one.

The three doctors arranged themselves around the table and waited for House to speak. He took a small breath and started.  
"Uh, welcome, I guess, to the new Diagnostics department here at PPTH. I'm Dr House and, as I'm sure you know, your new boss. If you need anything around here, it's probably best not to ask me, seeing as I'm as new as you are. Ask Dr Cuddy, or a nurse, or someone."  
House could feel his leg starting to cramp up from being sat still for too long. It wasn't time for his next Vicodin dose yet, so he needed to do something about it. He stood abruptly and began to pace up and down in front of the table, the cramp already calming down. The dull, deep, bone-knawing ache would be there for the rest of his life, though. House sighed silently. He could feel the eyes of his fellows on him, tracking his pronounced limp up and down the room. He turned to face them.

"You're going to ask at some point," he said, raising his cane. "So I'll clear it up now. About a year ago, an aneurysm in my leg clotted, causing muscle death. It went undiagnosed for a few days, so eventually the only viable option was to cut out the dead muscle. There was a lot of it. And yes, it hurt, it still hurts now and it's going to go on hurting pretty much forever. I take Vicodin for it, so if you see me reach for this-" he showed them his orange prescription bottle. "You'll know what it is." He scanned their faces. They were all a little horrified, Cameron more so than the other two, who also seemed slightly curious. Not enough to push the subject, though. "So... what are everyone's specialties?" Chase asked, trying to restore the conversation. "Neurology," Foreman answered, follwed shortly by Cameron's "Immunology."  
"I'm an intensivist," Chase supplied. "Dr House?"  
"I have a double specialty in Infectious Disease and Nephrology," he said. They all looked suitably impressed.  
At that moment, Dr Cuddy came in, a blue patient file in her hand.  
"Good morning, doctors," she said. "Welcome to PPTH." She glanced aaround the room. The four doctors already seemed to be gelling together naturally as a team. She was pleased with her selections. Especially one. She looked into his blue eyes and announced: "You have a case." 


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Sorry for the excruciatingly long wait guys, I was busy with GCSEs and crap... so anyway, on with the story!

_One year (or thereabouts) later..._

Lisa Cuddy patrolled the hallways of her hospital with a powerful glint in her eye, enjoying the knowledge that when all was said and done, she was the person who kept this place running. It was nearing nine o' clock in the evening, the time when the first shift had finally left, the second were prepared for the night and the patients were beginning to go to sleep. From behind her came the muffled sound of a patient's cardiac alarm and then sharper steps of a nurse accompanied by the hiss of the sliding door. The alarm was momentarily louder, then suddenly became one continuous, monotonous note. Dr Matthews, Clinical Lead on this ward, strode past and shortly after he went in, the alarm was stopped. He had called time of death. Cuddy swallowed, the bounce in her step dissipating as rapidly as the alarm. Although death was ineveitable in her proffesion, it didn't make it any easier to witness.

Whilst she'd been thinking, her footsteps had lead her to the elevators. She got in and chose a floor at random, hoping to be taken to a ward with more stable patients. Her finger had picked 4, the floor with Oncology's main ward, the labs, and the offices of her more senior doctors, such as Dr House- the genius in a human body, albeit a damaged one. She had monitored him carefully over the past year, checking that he still went to PT regularly and didn't become too dependent on his narcotics. His working hours and caseload were shorter and much smaller than the doctors around him, but that was understandable when having to deal with that much pain on a daily basis. Cuddy could see it in his eyes sometimes, on the worst days.

The lift pinged and she stepped out into the dim hallway, her heels sounding loudly against the smooth floor. She could see a light on in House's office, shining through a chink in the closed blinds. She knocked on the door, but there was no response. She glanced through the small crack in between the grey slats and caught a glimpse of sneakered feet propped on the footstool of his yellow recliner. She knocked a little louder but still got no response, so she pushed throught the blinds and went in.

House was sat in the recliner and at first glance Cuddy thought he was asleep. But then she noticed the blanched whiteness of his face, the sheen of sweat moistening his skin and the vice-like grip of his right hand on his bad thigh. He was in excruciating pain, the agony pouring off him in waves, percolating the atmosphere of the narrow office.

"Dr House? House?" Cuddy reached out and gently touched his shoulder. The muscles were as tight as a bowsting under his t-shirt.  
"House? I can see you're not ok. Can you speak to me?"

She waited ten seconds, watching his shallow breathing. If he had been unconcious, his breathing would have been deeper and more even, despite the pain. She just needed him to respond.

"Can you open your eyes?" She saw his Adam's apple bob in his throat, then he shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Come on, House, I need to check your pupils and pulse. How much Vicodin have you taken? I need to know if its safe to give you morphine."

He finally opened his eyes and Cuddy realised why he was reluctant to do so. His eyes were brimming with tears and two slowly spilled over. He quickly screwed his eyes tight shut again as the tears tracked forlornly down his face.

"House, please answer me. The sooner you do, the sooner I can take the pain away. How many Vicodin have you taken in the last three hours?"

Moving very slowly, House raised his left hand and showed her four fingers.

"Okay. I am going to give you some morphine then. I'll only be gone for a few minutes, so sit tight and-"

"No." House's hoarse voice cut across her like glass. "Please. Stay," he ground out.

"I'll page a nurse to bring me some morphine then, okay? I'll just go to the end of the corridor, then they won't know why I want it. I won't be gone for as long as if I went myself."

House considered. Thinking for any length of time clearly hurt, as he quickly said "Fine."

Cuddy used his desk phone to call a nurse then quickly left the office, receiving the morphine and returning in less than two minutes. The nurse didn't even seem suspicious. House had his eyes open properly when she went back in and he proffered his left arm when he saw the small syringe. Cuddy quickly tourniqued around his bicep, injected him and then sat back to let the drug do its work. After around ten minutes, House seemed to relax, each of his muscles loosening one by one. However, his hand never left his thigh. A glazed look was in his eyes, although now he was able to speak without choking on his words.

"Think you can walk? Or shall I get a wheelchair?" Cuddy asked.

"No. Not a wheelchair." House said, a little too fiercely. They reminded him of the weeks right after the infarction, before he'd relearned to walk.

"Okay," Cuddy said. "Let's go. I'm here if you need help."

"Thanks." Cuddy noted the sincerity in his tone; he knew it was likely that the help would be very much needed.

House carefully lifted his leg off the footstool and gently bent his knee back and forth, grimacing a little as he extended it each time.

"Er..." he cleared his throat. "Could you help me up please?" He looked ashamed to ask, but Cuddy immediately took his hand in hers and looped her other arm as well as she could across his broad shoulders. He slowly stood, keeping nearly all his weight on his left leg. She let go of him and he took a tentative step forward, a small sound escaping his lips as his leg gave way. He stumbled but caught himself easily on his cane, in what looked to Cuddy like an all too well-practiced movement. She hid the pity in her eyes as he turned round.

"I was thinking... could you maybe drive me home?" She only wished the invitation was under different circumstances.


	6. Chapter 6

They made it down to the parking lot uneventfully. Cuddy quickly glanced around for House's sake; fortunately there was no one else nearby. They slowly crossed the lot, Cuddy hovering at House's side, not wanting to be too helpful, but not wanting to get too far away should he need her. As they reached her car, House's step slowed further, his limp worsening with each pace. Suddenly he stopped, his face pinched and white and leaned heavily on his cane.

"What's up?" Cuddy asked. "Pain coming back already?"

"No," House said. The words were forced. "Leg's gonna spasm. I can feel it. Doesn't like the cold- ah!" His sentence was cut short as his leg locked. He grimaced and his hand immediately went to his thigh, trying to calm the cramp.

"Ok," Cuddy said. "Let's try and get you to the car. It's only a few steps, c'mon."  
She unlocked her car and opened the passenger door for him. He took slow steps, one at a time, moving his leg as little as possible. In ten short paces he was there. He stiffly sat and manuoevered his leg into the car using both hands, then put the seat back as far as it would go so he could strech out the painful limb.

"Alright?" Cuddy asked.

"Yeah. Should be ok now I'm sat down. For a while, anyway." He winced and went back to kneading his thigh. "I think it might be a good idea if you got some high strength muscle relaxants. Lorazepam or Diazepam." When she looked at him questioningly, he went on, "It'll save you a drive back here in the middle of the night if my leg makes up its mind to go into a full spasm."

"Ok. I'll be back in a tick."

House shut the door and shivered. The pain had been worsening all day and he'd put it down to the cold weather moving in. After the team had gone for the day he'd sat down, intending to do some paperwork before calling it a day. However, his leg had had other ideas and started sporadically cramping, the pain continuing to increase. He tried pacing, then extra Vicodin and eventually decided to sit down and wait it out. He knew there was no way he could drive in that state. Two hours later, when he was on the brink of passing out, his saviour came in the form of Lisa Cuddy and, more specifically, a syringe of morphine. That had held the pain at bay for the last fifteen minutes as they'd walked slowly down to the car, but his leg was trembling from the strain and he knew it would spasm if any more walking was required. All he wanted now was to get home and lie down. He knew sleep was unlikely to come, but he needed to rest.

At that moment, Cuddy returned with a small medical bag, which House presumed contained the drugs he'd asked for. She put the bag in the back and started the engine.

"You'll have to give me directions," she said "I know your address, but I doubt I'll find it in the dark."

"Ok," House replied. All he wanted was for the drive to be over as soon as possible.


	7. Chapter 7

The streets were fortunately empty so House and Cuddy reached House's apartment in record time. House took a few breaths to steel himself against the pain, then gently swivelled his leg and body and got out of the car. He put no weight at all on his right leg, letting it accustom the the sudden change in orientation. Cuddy came round the car and stood beside him, ready as physical and mental support. House took one step, his leg already starting to shake again. He made it after three laborious paces to the bottom of the steps leading to the door of the building, his leg nearly collapsing under him as he stopped. However, Cuddy was there and she quickly grasped his elbow to keep him upright.

"Wanna take a rest? Sit down on the steps for a minute?"

"No," he replied. "I think... if I sit down... probably won't get up again. Huh," he grunted. "Can usually manage the steps ok. If it's not wet or anything." His tone challenged her to pity him.

"Just remember," she advised. "I'm only here to help."

"I'm ready to go inside now," was all he said. She took that as a thank you.

Once indoors, Cuddy deposited him at the sofa, allowing him to gingerly lift his foot onto the scuffed coffee table. She took the opportunity to glance around the apartment; the living room was decorated and furnished in dark colours, with a small fireplace opposite the sofa. The things that caught her eye were the black baby grand piano in one corner and the guitars hung up on the wall alongside it.

"I didn't know you were musical," she said in surprise.

"Yeah," House said. "Right now, don't care. Can you get me a Vicodin?"

"That's not really a good idea, House, it's above the recommended dose, I-"

"Right now, don't care!" he reiterated. "Whichever moron came up with the recommended dosage level clearly never experienced severe chronic pain, which, as far as I'm aware, neither do you. I'm an adult and a doctor, so I think I can be trusted to make my own medical decisions." His speech over, he dropped his chin onto his chest and his hand resumed its rythmic massage, digging deep into his thigh. It dawned on Cuddy that it had been his medical proxy (and girlfriend) who had been the one to give the go-ahead for his devastating surgery, which he clearly hadn't wanted, so no wonder he wanted total control now. There was also no evidence of a girlfriend in the flat.

"Ok then." She dug in the bag of medical supplies she'd brought and handed House a full bottle of the pills. He tipped one out and swallowed it dry, not leaving time for Cuddy to offer to get him a glass of water. He put the bottle within easy reach on the coffee table.

"Can I use your bathroom?" she asked. It would give her the opportunity for more snooping.

"Last door down the hall."

She got up and made her way there, all the while looking around, curious about this mysterious man who (in her opinion) was her most fascinating employee yet. When she returned, House was half asleep on the sofa.

"C'mon, House, wakey-wakey." He opened one bleary eye. "Don't fall asleep there; I definitely can't carry you to your bedroom."

"Fine." He groaned and heaved himself up and began his slow journey down the hall, frequently pausing and using the wall as a support. She followed him all the way into his room, just to make sure he got there ok. When she ascertained he had, she made her way back to the couch and curled up, hoping to get at least a few hours sleep out of the lumpy leather.


	8. Chapter 8

Cuddy awoke with a crick in her neck and pins and needles in her arm where she'd slept on it. She glanced at her watch. 4:36 am. Normally she would have rolled over and gone back to sleep, but now she realised neither of these options were viable. Firstly, if she'd tried to roll over she would have fallen off the couch and secondly, she felt it was her duty to go and check on House, so she stood up and stretched the tiredness from her limbs, then padded down the hall towards his bedroom. She softly pushed open the door (which fortunately didn't creak) and peered through the gap. She could see a House-shaped lump curled under the blankets, but she felt compelled to go in, just to get a closer look.

The duvet was pulled right up to his chin, but she could see that he was scrunched into an almost foetal position, body wrapped protectively around his damaged thigh. The rest of his right leg was ramrod straight and totally still, stopping it from jarring as the rest of his body was twitching and moving. Cuddy suspected he was having particularly vivid dreams as a side effect of the morphine. Suddenly he rolled over onto his right side, unconciously lying with his full weight on his bad leg and he jolted out of sleep, hands clawing at his jeans (he hadn't undressed earlier, merely collapsed into bed). He groaned in pain, then made a small whimpering noise that sounded almost fearful to Cuddy, as though he was pleading to be released from his agony. Then, in a flash, his body went completely, eerily still, his right leg once again jutting straight out. His fingers, previously burrowing through denim, stiffened, but remained in place. The only thing that moved in that second was a bead of sweat which dripped down the side of his face. Then he screamed. There was no other way of putting it. It wasn't a yell or a shout and it only lasted for a split second, but Cuddy decided that it was the worst thing shed ever heard in her life. Then she realised what had happened. House's full weight plus its already aggravated state had sent his leg into a full-on spasm. Cuddy was instantly a blur of motion. She dashed to the living room and rummaged in the bag for the bottle of Diazepam and the syringe she'd brought, then ran back along the hall to House's bedroom, stopping for a moment to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"House, I have the muscle relaxants and in my capacity as a doctor, I am going to administer some now, no matter what you say." He was too far gone, floating across his own lonely sea of agony to heed what she was saying, so she injected the drugs as quickly as she could, then went to the bathroom where she ran some cold water over a cloth. She draped this over his forehead and hoped it would be soothing as the drugs did their work. After a tense fifteen minutes, his body seemed to have completely relaxed again and he had returned to his previous curled position, yet in all that time he hadn't properly awoken, his body saving his concious mind from the nearly unendurable pain. Even though he seemed to be asleep once more, Cuddy didn't leave his side for the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Awkwardness ensued between House and Cuddy for the following few days, until one morning House walked into his office to find a pink inter-departmental memo folded neatly on top of a stack of paper work. He unfolded it to read:

**From/to:** [ _Dr. L. Cuddy- Dr. G. House_]  
**Subject: **[ _Case meeting_ ]  
**Time: **[ _11:15 _]  
**Notes: **[ _Please come to my office for a brief meeting concerning current case._ ]

He frowned. Why on earth would Cuddy want to discuss his current case? As far as he could see, it was a straight forward case of African sleeping sickness, with no external input from his boss required. He screwed up the pink slip of paper, threw it away and turned wearily to the morass of files overcrowding his desk. The mysterious meeting passed from his mind completely until he glanced at the clock at 11:13 and remembered where he needed to be. He scribbled a note to his juniors on the differential whiteboard:

_Better drowned than duffers; if not duffers, won't drown._

After doing so, he left the office, filled with slight trepidation at what the next fifteen minutes would bring.

**A/N:** Hope you lot get it :P


	10. Chapter 10

Cuddy glanced up at a knock on the inner door of her office, recogninsing the figure.

"Come in," she said. "Ah, Dr. House. Please sit down."

He did so and there was a brief pause. Their eyes met and they both glanced away again, she embarrassed, he indifferent. Cuddy cleared her throat, but House got there first.

"My case is doing nicely, thanks for taking an interest. May I go now?" His tone contained a lot of irritation, but also a smidgen of his usual playful humour.

"Um..." Cuddy hesitated. He arched an eyebrow questioningly.

"I didn't actually ask you here so we could discuss your case."

"Oh? What then?"

"Are you ok, House?" He frowned, puzzled. "Fine, thanks. How are you doing?"

"I don't mean like that. I mean... the other night... with your leg..." His jaw clenched in understanding and discomfort with the subject of his handicap being brought up.

"I said, I'm fine." His tone brooked no argument. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But are you coping ok? I'm serious, House. Are you really, truly alright?"

His tough exterior cracked and he shot a look of gratitude at her.

"You know, you're the first person to actually care."

"Really? I thought... wasn't there anyone with you.. when it happened?"

He laughed, a dry sound which held no humour. "Yeah, there was. She didn't care. The only thing she ever worried about was suing the hospital for malpractice and neglect and any other damn thing she could think of. It was always about money with her after that. How were we going to afford to adapt the aparment, the car, whatever, to my new needs? Did I need to change my diet because of the medication I was now on, and if so, would that cost more? After a while, I stopped listening to her and we... drifted, I guess. Out of each other's lives. Too much resentment and guilt."  
He looked pensive for a moment, then surprised and annoyed at himself for revealing so much about what had happened after the infarction.

"Thanks for confiding in me, House, but you didn't answer my question."

"Oh. I'm ok, I guess. I... uh... look, thanks for being there the other night. I've only had pain that bad once or twice before and well... thanks for taking care of me."

"You're welcome." Cuddy was surprised at his sincere gratitude.

"Um... " For once he seemed to be at loss for words. "This is all confidential, right?"

"Strictly."

"Good. Then no one will know about this." And he slowly leaned across the desk towards her and she found herself leaning too, until their lips met, tentative at first, then unstoppable in force. Before she knew it, the kiss was over and he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

When Cuddy returned to her office after lunch, she found a folded piece of paper in the middle of her desk, the bright pink colour indicating it was an inter- departmental memo. She unfolded it and read:

**From/to:** [ _Dr. G. House- Dr. L. Cuddy_ ]  
**Subject:** [ _Re: Case meeting_ ]  
**Time:** [ _7:00 pm, Friday_ ]  
**Notes:** [ _Dinner and a movie? I'll pick you up. Greg._ ]

She carefully re-folded the paper and slipped it into her pocket, commiting the date and time to memory. She was already looking forward to it.


	12. Chapter 12

_Some months later..._

House was awoken at 9:30 on Saturday morning by his cell phone ringing beside his bed. He saw the Caller ID- it was Cuddy- and sleepily answered.

"Hey."

"Morning Greg. Sleep well?"

"Mmmm. Up until a minute ago."

"Sorry, but it is kinda urgent."

He was instantly more awake. "What is it? Are you ok?"

"Relax, I'm fine. My sister's husband, however, isn't. He's been in a car accident and she's gone to the hospital with him. Apparently it's pretty serious; suspected spinal injury, lots of fractures."

"And this affects you- and me- how?"

"She's just called to ask if I can look after her 8-year-old son becasue she doesn't want him going to the hospital with her and she's dropping him off here in a few minutes. So I'm afraid I have to cancel our plans for tonight. I know a great Chinese takeout place if you need feeding."

House grinned. "You know full well you can't fob me off with a Chinese takeout; so therefore you msut have an ulterior motive... hmmmm... it seems that you do want me over today... aha! Ze leetle grey cells tell me that you don't want to look after your sister's son alone, you want me to help... and seeing as you think that I sometimes behave like an eight year old boy, you think we'll get along great, saving you the trouble of thinking of something to do with him!" His tone was triumphant.

Cuddy laughed. "Alright, you win. Will you come over? You get to spend more time with me." "You don't need to bribe me, of course I'll come. I'll be over in half an hour, tops."

"Ok. Love you."

He paused. "Love you too. See you in a few." He hung up, quickly showered and dressed and was out the door in fifteen minutes. As he left, he caught sight of the time: 9:55. On a normal Saturday, he wouldn't even be awake by now.

"Oh, the things I do for love," he muttered. But his heart told him it was worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

House pulled up at Cuddy's house, slowly negotiated the steps up to the front door and knocked. Almost instantly, the door opened, but House was surprised to see a short, blone haired boy stood there, as opposed to Lisa Cuddy as he had expected.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," the boy responded. "You must be G-G-G-Greg."

House noted the boy's stammer, possibly brought on by nerves.

"Yeah," he said. "You can call me House, though. A lot of people do."

"S-S-S-Sure. Aunt Lisa s-s-said she was exp-p-p-pecting a tall g-g-guy who looked like he had j-j-just g-g-got out of bed, s-s-so I th-th-thought I should l-l-let you in." He moved aside to let House past. House could feel the boy's eyes watching his limp as crossed the room.

"In here, Greg!" Lisa called from the kitchen. "I see you've met Jason, then."

"So that's his name," House said. "He didn't actually introduce himself."

Jason sidled into the kitchen. "S-S-S-Sorry," he said, regretfully. He extended a hand. "Pleased to meet you, G-G-G-Gr... House."

House switched his cane over and shook. "Nice to meet you too, Jason."  
Formalities over, Jason scurried back to the living room and presently they heard the television being switched on.

"Thanks for coming, Greg."

"It's ok, really. I didn't have anything planned anyway, so it's no problem at all. And by the way, 'a tall guy who looked like he'd just got out of bed'?"

"What else was I meant to say? It's certainly true." Cuddy suppressed a grin as House straightened his collar and smoothed down his jeans.

"Well, the descripitions I'm used to are generally 'cripple' or 'tall guy with a cane' "

"I don't see you that way."

"Oh, sure. I bet the first thing you saw and judged me on when we first met was my limp. Admit it."

"Actually, the first thing that crossed my mind was something like 'wow, he's totally sexy and I would jump him at any given opportunity.' "

House was momentarily silenced by her honesty.  
"Seriously?"

"Yes. And that's how I thought of you ever since. Including now." She pulled him in for a deep kiss. He smiled.

"I don't really know how to phrase this," he said. "But you mean a lot to me. Because before, I thought I had the real thing, but now... I know I was wrong. Because this is the best thing I've ever had."

"I know." They shared a moment of silence. Cuddy broke it.

"I need to go shooping for something for dinner. Wanna come or stay here with Jason?"

"Hmmm, the chance of finding a kindred spirit in the eternal war against your eating habits, or go with you and undertake the struggle alone? I'll stay, if you don't mind."

She smiled. "Ok, I'll be back in an hour or so. Any requests?"

"As long as there aren't too many vegetables involved, it's fine by me."

"See you later then."

"Have fun," House said, laughter in his tone.

"I will!" Cuddy called and soon after, House heard the door shut and her car starting and driving off. Left alone in the kitchen, he decided to go through and see what Jason was watching.


End file.
